


Thinking In the Past Tense

by Nugg



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Abuse, Akira is his literal life saver trust me, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Domestic Violence, Healing, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ryuji has a hard time dealing with his past, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, please mind these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21592570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nugg/pseuds/Nugg
Summary: Like everything though, time brought change. Scars turned into stories, the holes in the walls disappeared alongside his father.  Life went on as if years of torment were simply a blip in the time continuum.——Ryuji’s struggles with the pains of the past have always stuck with him, and eventually, pushing it all away has its consequences.
Relationships: Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji
Comments: 12
Kudos: 142





	Thinking In the Past Tense

With memories of slurred words and broken bottles that matched well with promises, home life had never been good for Ryuji. 

Cigarettes burned into his upper arms, “so generous,” as the man who held him with a tight grip had claimed, “to do it where nobody could see them.” Putrid smell a mix of alcohol, horrible hygiene, and rotting teeth, the fragrance of a downhill spiral into failure had become normal. 

Sneaking home late from a meet, resulted in severe punishment, high above the pain meter. When he’d be thrown to the ground, out of the wrath of a man he’d wished dead more times than not, the worst form of his drunkenly disorder, was when he’d taken it out on his mother. So helpless, and brave all at the same time, if those slaps and degrading words were bullets, she would jump in front of them with no hesitation for her son. 

The mentality between the two was genetic, “If I offer myself up, the other won’t get hurt.” Which resulted in bruises and scrapes for both people, and had left a giant mess when the rampages where finally finished, but they'd still stick to each other. Tending to their new injuries, collecting them like some shit trading cards... why were his fondest memories from his childhood always set in a situation of escape?

The bathroom sink, getting the antiseptic that hurt less than the insults thrown at him, into his fresh cuts with a sting. White tile fading into taxi rides to shitty motels, his mom playing any kind of game to raise his spirits, rubbing the purple marks on her wrist. The man in the front asking no questions as his mother tried to leave for the third time. 

Stuck working Christmas, the best memories lacked his father, fantastic job calling upon him for the most wonderful season they’d ever had. That gooey feeling he’d felt inside when touching upon the memory of him dancing with his mom in the living room to jolly music… would never leave him. It’s what kept him going through the hard hits and the continuous abuse.

Like everything though, time brought change. Scars turned into stories, the holes in the walls disappeared alongside his father. Life went on as if years of torment were simply a blip in the time continuum. 

They where still there. All those painful flashbacks and memories full of anguish, had never really gone away. He still had his father’s last name, he still had his looks, his genes. Sometimes he’d swear he’d see that horrid face in the crowd, and seize up. Unable to move any part of his body with that fear still instilled within his bones. 

Who was he after his dad left? To build yourself to not have a personality based on abuse, to see his mother flinch at loud noises, to wake up in a cold sweat with awful dreams… it was slow, but they made it work.

His mom dated other men, some kind, some hit or miss, and he’d rejoined the track team, a small hiatus not stopping his ambition. Making friends, becoming well regarded after he’d moved schools, no longer known as the kid whose dad slapped him around. The road to High School was promising. 

The cheery greetings from people he hardly knew, so proud of their school’s star athlete, had come to make the permanent marker made scars fade. Still there, just hard to read now.

Again, time brought change. And change brought bad things when the moment just seemed to be getting better. 

Kamoshida brought back the hits, the bruises, and even more than his father ever had. That bastards grubby face filling up his mind, he started failing his classes, believing the words being spat at him, ignoring his mom in fear he’d lash out and hurt her… 

How many times would he have to kill Ryuji Sakamoto to escape? Cut who he previously was into pieces, and create someone new. Restart his personality and life, like a character in a video game, using that save file over and over again. Unlimited chances to screw up for the billionth time. 

This version was sad, broken leg, ruined reputation, and fucked track career. Running had become his life, and now it was over. So essentially, if he pulled that memory card out of the game, he wouldn’t have to respawn. 

His mother, disappointed, but a good enough parent to never let on, was left to deal with him. Driven to the point of self-isolation, hearing him cry through those thin walls of the only apartment she could afford. Soft knocks, gentle voice, even softer touches to sooth him through another bout of complete misery. 

She’d been through so much, and now she had to deal with a failure of a son. Someone unable to provide for her like he’d promised, his scholarship that would guarantee them money, was gone. So, what was left for him? 

Drinking had caused all of this. Kamoshida would’ve never had something to hold over him, if his father had chosen to drink soda instead. Beer, booze, and years of torment that followed, had drove Ryuji to a bridge. 

Of course he didn’t know exactly which one, it wasn’t necessarily important. He just wanted to make sure it was high, and that nobody was around to stop him. Picking a spot with no barriers, late at night on a rather cold day, the wind gnawed at his face, jacket pulled on tight to try and make his last walk not so miserable. 

The city lights made it unfair. A few cars adding to the dissonance of the water flowing below, and the pounding in his head just waiting for the moment they were all pulled into some sort of tune that didn’t hurt his head. The railing he’d stopped at, so cold to the touch. Those pretty skyscrapers fooled with his mind, and tugged him back and forth over the edge by his hoodie strings. 

Again unfair, looking down, seeing the deep dark blackness of a water he was prepared to plunge into and never resurface. His heart raced, tightening his grip, praying his leg could still hoist him up, and that his hands could save him if he changed his mind mid jump. 

Unfair became an understatement when fireworks erupted from somewhere beyond his line of sight. Reflection on the water Ryuji was about to throw himself into so beautiful beyond belief. Wind ripping through his hair that he had recently let grow out with no care. A green burst, followed by a yellow, everything at once had become overwhelming, and the railing burned his palms. 

Of course it had to be fireworks.

Skyscrapers showing off their twinkling lights, warm tones of fireworks showing an array of colors on his own skin. Bracing that bar, a few more popped off as he stared down at his hands and feet, vibrancy like the lights in Shibuya, why hadn’t he ever paid attention to how the colors played on people’s faces? With them bouncing on his own skin in that moment, he was sure it’d be beautiful. 

His left shoe was untied. Another pop and burst, he could see his breath, worrying his bottom lip into his teeth, what was he doing? 

Rainbow filled the sky the next time he looked up, feeling the chill full on now, hood falling away, he let those fireworks fizzle out. Feeling as though the next round could hit him straight in his chest, and he wouldn’t feel it. 

A buzz to his pocket, something of a smile formed on his face when one shaped like a heart came to the sky. 

He answered without looking, “Hi mom.” 

“Ji, sweetie! Do you see those fireworks from home?” She sounded so excited for being eight hours into a twelve hour shift, “Oh they’re just wonderful.” 

_ Boom, boom.  _ They lit up the sky, and he could practically feel his eyes capturing the sight, making those images and the moment burn into his memories. Looking at the same stretch above as his mom, though far away, to know they were sharing the same sky was more comforting. Phone pressed to his ear, grip so tight, everything had seemed so silly now. 

A gust of wind moved the strings on his jacket, and he closed his eyes into soaking up everything. No force was playing tug of war over the bridge anymore. 

Her words brought him back from the railing, slowly but surely, “I do, ma. They sure are pretty, eh?” 

The bar to hold him back seemed so stupid now, as did his thoughts. Embarrassed, he didn’t quite know if his cheeks were red from the cold, or if it was from shame. Like his mother’s words where scolding his conscious, stepping away from the ledge and back onto the sidewalk was her punishment to him. 

Somehow he could perfectly picture himself, lights flashing behind him as he shuffled back home. Streetlamps casting an orange glow, feet moving, and leaving something behind on that bridge. One hand buried in his pocket, talking to his mother in the other one, and warmly smiling against the chill. 

She hesitated, “You okay? You don’t sound too happy, sweetheart. I thought you loved fireworks.” He could hear a blast behind him. 

Laughing lightly, on the contrary, he had actually felt real joy for the first time in what seemed like forever, “I just wish you were here to see em with me, ma.” 

They’d spoken the entire time he went back home. Her stories of her interesting job at the ER detailing senile old men, silly injuries, and many other things we was sure where against the rules to say outside of her job. 

The next day, he’d bought hair bleach.

New world ready to load in, he lowered his head and tried his best to make it through school. 

With his small limp, new hair his mom told him made him look cool, and a sour attitude towards his peers, if he could just survive until he graduated… 

Though the halls seemed to grow longer each and every step he took, the damaged soles of his feet carried him. Sitting in his seat, and absentmindedly listening to the chatter of the whole school as he waited for the bell to ring. Each second a reminder of how unwanted he was, the seats around Ryuji only had their owners when it was necessary. Nobody wanted to be around him too long.

Going to the rooftop, looking over that concrete wall, too short for its own good, really. He could see a stretch of city that helped his aches and pains. The world outside so promising, watching people on their separate lives, getting out of school was more than just a step to his career. It was a sign of freedom. 

Those bustling streets filled with people whose hair was much more out there than his, nobody would ever know his background. They couldn’t guess he was abused, and that his father was a drunkard. Going on with their own lives like everyone should’ve been doing this entire time. He remembered walking down a shopping district late one night, seeing business men at bars, and those dressed in Lolita, he didn’t stand out. What would it be like to live that every day? 

Even if he was called down to Kamoshida's office, and was still being used by that monster, he kept himself out of trouble. Showing up and doing the bare minimum, holding on to his hope, and hearing whispers that sounded like his name. 

The touching, the words said in that small coaches office, furthered his self-destruction, and halted any progress in moving forward. That disgusting voice filling his brain had echoed on his trips down the back halls. Mouth already dry and stomach already dropped, he just had to deal. 

Chin down wasn’t a phrase he was taught, but the world had taken its grubby fingers and forced it down to his shoes. Eyes not meeting any of his classmates, his avoiding nature was probably more of a put off… but did he really care? 

This life sucked anyway. It was no fun, and more of a hellish cycle, repeating the same bullshit every day. Often times, finding himself thinking of that bridge, and the cold railing… it brought his bad thoughts back down. 

Someone reset the game again when a transfer kid from the middle of nowhere, joined his party. More pale than himself, the guy was given shit on a platter, and Ryuji who’d went through years upon years of torment, was ready to make that good looking guy the main character. So tired of telling his own story, and trying to fix what would never be mended, he took his full attention to someone else.

Immediately befriending him, and tossing away his former actions, the grin he held when they met would never be rivaled. Knowing in that instance that this playthrough was going to be the best one yet, he passed the first stage within hours or so much so as walking into his presence under that shop awning. Alleys turning to maroon tones, school seemed so far out of his mind when they both saw that gigantic castle. 

Embarking on that journey, and seeing that guy rip his face off… school seemed to be the only thing in his mind when they where running from Kamoshida in a hot pink Speedo. 

Yada yada yada, palaces, personas and hearts being stolen, this new life was easy, even if the quests were hard. He found himself enjoying the bruises he’d get, relishing in the tightness in his calves after being forced to run for what seemed like miles…. No more boring play of walking the halls and picking out which whispers belonged to who.

Kurusu Akira had taught him that a purple mark to his face wasn’t something to dread. He didn’t need any of his mom's makeup up cover it, all he needed was the gloved touch, and healing that his leader gave to him. Intimate and more close than the other members, he almost wanted to get smacked around now. To feel the pain from a shadow fade away under the warm hands he found himself fond over.

Instead of running the track until his lungs gave out, and limping home in pain. He’d limp from a rather tough mementos mission back home with a smile on his face. 

That smile wavering upon a couple of false (but all the more scary,) deaths between Akira and him, nothing could ever compare to the beam he presented when he heard some special words. The, “I care about you, I don’t want to lose you,  _ I love you.”  _ That rang through his ears more than the echoes of the ship explosion, and it had caused him to short circuit. Waterlogged with doubt.

A kick to his side, a groan and a flash of his dads fist as Futaba growled in anger. Ann with tears down her face,  _ he didn’t like this part of the game.  _ The cold ground he was left on, bloody nose and shivers that sent horrid memories to his fucked up brain… coping wasn’t his thing. 

He had to get up. Ignore the throbbing pain being betrayed by those he thought understood had brought upon his heart.  _ They knew his past… so why did they beat him?  _

Akira standing with tears in his eyes was enough to wipe away those thoughts. 

Just going fishing, or holding hands during a baton pass… what had his father done to him? To bring himself to hatred of his own life that he made someone he loved cry in an attempt to protect them? 

Risking his life for others was something he had woven into his veins because of that nasty man… and perhaps now, seeing how much that hurt others. He could let someone cut them open, to bleed out the pains of the past. 

Everything they’d ever done together from the moment they’d met had filled his head. 

Even the time Akira had been brainwashed, pinning him to the cold mementos floor and choking him. Being thrown off, hit with something to make him stop just as he had wound back to hit Ryuji… look of complete horror at his hand. Laying there on the ground so helpless, he hadn’t flinched so hard in  _ so  _ long. 

The apologies never stopped. A straight week of Akira being cautious, of Ryuji being jumpy at their usual touches. Not being able to will himself to forget it, body trained to react harshly, it wouldn’t recognize something as trivial as that.

And then they went and saw a movie late that Saturday, and ended up falling asleep on the ride home. Heads resting against each other, the rest of the thieves still tease them about traveling a two hours walk away from the closest platform to LeBlanc. 

With life moving on. Murdering a literal God, losing the Metaverse, and Akira going back home… it was as smooth as it could be. 

His mom smiled frequently. His grades were up, and his boyfriend often visited on breaks. Graduation inching closer and closer, his tiny steps towards a great life grew into a run as he rejoined the track team. Hearing his friends cheer him on from the stands as he broke all the records he’d previously made before. 

This game seemed a lot more nice. A happy ending playing out before his eyes, it was time he’d let the story shift into a sequel. Something fresh, and new, and good for his character, who had grown up so much over the course of years, which had seemed like mere hours. 

An apartment, boxes that weren’t his mixed in, and sweet words said to each other like broken records. College had come upon him, and with that came the opportunity to live with his one and only. Akira laughing at him when he got all giddy about only having  _ one  _ bedroom. It was right of campus, still close to his mother, and accessible for all the thieves to come and visit. 

A connection line that took five minutes to get to a certain cafe… it was as if everything ordered itself well. New university friends and easy classes towards his career, Ryuji has found himself a good play through. Whoever had the controller selecting the college sports option, had made another right choice. 

These guys were different from the assholes back at Shujin who still shot him dirty looks, and spoke bitterly about him to the very end of their schooling. Upset more than ever, when it was announced that Ryuji would be receiving a sports scholarship over anyone else. The new Shujin coach, so nice enough to grant it slapping him on the back with a smile, it almost didn’t seem real. 

They were adults in university, not aware of each other’s past, and really? Not seeming to be interested in learning about such trivial things, only praising Ryuji when they saw his surgery scars, getting a story from him. Teammates telling him  _ he was good.  _ Knowing about his leg, and not putting him down over it, all the memories of the past seemed to become hazy at his practices. But, not entirely did they go away. 

Of course sometimes the slightest feeling brought waves of anxiety that only Akira could fix. Running, and getting the pang of awful pain in his leg, striking a nerve so deep as to send him into a panic attack. 

Someone playing Ryuji's point of view would be able to see what was happening. Images of Kamoshida in his office, bloody noses and bruises transitioning over to the splintering wood floors of an apartment. Picking tiny pieces of glass from his arms. Heaving, and trying to hide his breakdowns, just because it seemed to be going well, didn’t mean life couldn’t have a few speed bumps. 

If it got quiet enough, he could feel the cold metal bars of the railing to the bridge. Hear the cars passing by again, and have the sense of the chilled wind making his nose sore. 

_ Fireworks, hoodie strings pulled tight, the pitch black water reflecting the skyscrapers beauty… how unfairly wonderful everything looked.  _ What if he jumped? What if he drowned, and left the world without him? Where would Akira be? Betting that the Phantom Thieves could’ve gotten off well without him- 

_ Trauma didn’t go away, even when you switched lives.  _

__ “Hey, Sakamoto! Congrats on the run today,” his teammate clapped him on the back, dropping his thoughts to come back to present day. 

Hoping he couldn’t see the goosebumps he’d gotten from thinking about his past, vivid imagery from a suicide attempt, the feeling didn’t quite fizzle out as much as he wanted it to. Grinning despite himself, as he swallowed down the small panic attacks he was so used to at this point. Trying to focus on the now, rather than what had happened years ago at this point. 

“We all did good today, man.” He shrugged the guy off, so passive to compliments after years of insults. 

Another teammate, who Ryuji immediately sought to look up to, congratulated him too, “But you beat your time like it was nothing. The dudes on the other teams won’t know what hit em!” 

Trying hard not to seem too bashful, his nervous mannerisms kicked in, and he dug his toe into the ground. Reaching back to itch at his neck, “Aw y’all are too kind.” 

“Whatta ya say to going for some drinks? A reward for a good day?” 

The word “drinks,” reminds him of a time where he’d meet at the cozy cafe, next to Akira. Listening to Yusuke and Futaba argue while Makoto tries to calm them down. Haru giggling, and Ann recording the whole ordeal as they sat over their various cups of Kurusu-LeBlanc specialty’s. Hot chocolate burning his tongue, Sojiro grumbling somewhere in the background. 

Drinks were good connotations to him at this point. Sodas at the diner he’d meet Ann at after her modeling gigs when his love had been miles away back home. Frilly drinks the new president of Okumura Foods would force him to get, watching with her gentle smile as he begrudgingly sipped the rather delicious mocha-frappa-whatever-the-fuck they were calling it this month. 

Ryuji really thought things would be perfectly fine. It was just drinks, harmless fun with his friends.

When he walked into the room, hand of his teammate on his back, the booths and warmth didn’t greet him. 

It was definitely,  _ warm.  _ But. He’d suddenly felt all too cold with the sight of men slumped on bars, yellowish liquid sloshing around as a table of businessmen toasted to something. 

“Ah,” he nervously laughed, carted towards the back to a large booth. Everyone chatty and excited, not paying attention to the rather quick fall from reality their pal was having. 

How quickly did things shift.

Pungent and loud. He never thought alcohol could even have a sound. But this stuff around him had started to scream and screech awful memories to him. Starting dirty and torn film strips in his mind as he sat down, wondering when someone would care to notice how sick he was feeling. 

His father materialized, and he tried to blink it away, as if just the smell of beer had gotten him far gone. He smiled hesitantly when the group laughed around him, although muted, he’d known when to react. 

_ “You fucking failure.”  _

__ “A pint for our winner here!” His friend boomed to the bright waitress, her smile making him all the more nauseous. 

_ Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.  _

He flinched when everyone started clapping for some reason, hoping that nobody would notice his jitters. Wondering why in the first place he was stupid enough to bypass what the proposition of  _ drinks,  _ had meant. 

_ Stupid stupid stupid. He set himself up.  _

_ He was picking glass out of his elbow in the mirror. Grimacing when he plucked out a large piece, slim and deep into his skin so much that it started to bleed profusely when plucked.  _

__ Why did he do this? Why was he falling back into that pit of darkness after all this time set so perfectly? Years and years of nothing but peace, who was this man in his skin, and why had he fallen back into old habits? Stepped right into those thoughts he’d pushed away all this time. 

“Chug! Chug! Chug!”

When did the mug get into his hands? 

“Chug!” 

Why was nobody noticing the fear in his eyes, or the tears welling up as the glass pressed to his lips. Spilling the nasty stuff into his mouth, the first taste making him cringe, hidden behind how large the cup was against his face. 

“Chug!” 

_ “You’ll end up just like your father.” _

__ “Chug!” 

_ “I heard his dad was an alcoholic. Wonder if the apple falls far from that fucked tree?”  _

__ Laughs echoed. Coinciding with the happy ones from his teammates, and the crude ones from his peers as he lay on the ground screaming in pain. Leg screwed beyond belief. 

All the color drained from his face and slithered into the memories he’d buried all those years ago when the world slowed. Meer background noise sounded like someone messed with the speed of a song, muffled behind the pounding in his head. 

Another. Who was paying for these beers? 

He was drinking again, each sip bringing a flash of his own hands hitting his mother in place of his father. 

_ Drink drink drink. Chug chug chug.  _ People started to fade away, unsure if they were leaving in real life, or whatever dreamland he was thrown into, he couldn’t stop. Someone still letting him go… how long had they been there? 

Mothers face distorting to glasses. 

She didn’t wear glasses, but the one who was materializing before him did. Fluffy black hair, grey eyes full of tears, bruises like the ones from Highschool when the investigators were rough beyond belief with him. 

Was he the one who did this to him? Was he truly his father now??? 

“Akira.” 

Tears filled his own eyes, a sob working it’s way out of his throat. Where was he now? What happened to the warm tones of that bar? 

“Akira,” he cried. 

Why was he in an alley? Where were his friends.

“Ryuji? What’s wrong? Where are you?” 

When did he get a phone to his ear? How did he call him? 

“Akira they made me drink,” he sobbed into the speaker. Sliding against whatever grimy wall he found himself leaning against, free hand pulling at his hair. 

“Stay on the phone,” He heard between his heaving, concern falling through the screen and wrapping around his shaking hand. More care for him than his teammates had for him this entire time he was with them at the bar. 

Sniffling, he wiped his running nose on his worn down jacket, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m  _ so so sorry Aki.”  _

“Don’t apologize,” he’d tried to pay attention to what was happening in the other end of the call. Listening to the huff of his lover running to his aid, “Don’t you dare apologize, Ryuji. This isn’t your fault.” 

He slumped to the ground, “I’m just like my dad.” 

There was silence on the other end, and Ryuji breathed out into the chilly air. Waiting for the ghosts of his breath to appear, but only frowning at the smell of alcohol that hit his nose. 

“Stop it,” he finally heard, and his heart suddenly felt a lot better, “What bar are you at?” 

Bringing his knees to his chest, Ryuji shrugged like the latter could see him, “I dunno… it’s that one um-“

Glancing around the alley like it would do anything but make him more confused, he tried his best to think back, “That one across from the gahhh. Shit. By university. Across the uhm- fuckin’ weird restaurant that has them cat girls.” 

A small noise of understanding calmed his fast paced mind a bit. Looking to the entrance to the road, and not moving an inch like Akira had told him earlier. Waiting to see the lean body appear down there, and come save him like the stupid damsel he was. 

“They didn’t stop me-“ 

He hiccuped, and frowned again, “I started having them flashbacks. I started hearin’ my effin’  _ dad.”  _

“Ryu, please. I’m almost there. I see the sign, are you inside?” The phone seemed louder, and it made him cringe at the noise. 

“No. I’m in the alley.” 

His, “What!?” Echoed off the walls, and Ryuji took the chance to see his savior stopped dead in his tracks on the sidewalk in the distance. Blurry, yes. But all the more noticeable for his eyes. 

“I see you.” He had mumbled, somehow coherent enough for a quick head turn. Watching as Akira took off for him while he sat on the dirty ground. 

Dropping his phone to his side, and burying his face into his hands. He began to cry just before Akira had reached him, sinking down to his knees to hug the hell out of his shaking body. Comfort seemed undeserving, but he was selfish enough to accept it. 

Sure enough, he could feel his shoulder become wet, wanting to shove away his love after making him cry too. The alcohol was like syrup in his veins. And he wasn’t able to move an inch from his spot, only catching the few shaky whispers from Akira as they sit there on the ground. 

_ “I love you I love you I love you,”  _

__ Ryuji cried a bit louder, and didn’t quite care who heard. 

_ “You’re okay now, I’m here. I’m here now, Ryu.”  _

__ “He was standing in front of me- and I started to see shit-“ he had tried, choking on his words.

A comforting rake of the fingers through his hair, and suddenly he found himself shudder through another shaky breath. Trying to give a reason to why he was sitting there like the stupid person he was, trying in someway to convince himself of so many things at once.

Adjusting a bit so he was fully wrapped in the tight embrace, his chest shook while he tried to calm down enough to speak again, “They put that drink in front of me and cheered me on. I drank it like a fucking- fucking  _ idiot.  _ I’m gonna end up jus’ like that bastard! That’s why I never wanted to so much as taste that shit-“ 

“You are not your dad, Ryuji.”

Lip wobbling, he couldn’t bring himself to quite accept that either, “But I’m his son. I’m his blood, and all people have been sayin’ over these years is true.” 

Squeezing tighter, he could sense the anger that was to come out of Akira’s next words, “No, it’s not, and it’s never been true. You are so,  _ so  _ much more than your fathers son.” 

Cold railings, and feet to edges, that windy day on the bridge came to mind. And he grimaced, remembering a time where he didn’t have the support he did now. 

Back when being held like this was so far out of his mind, that he would’ve jumped, rather than wait for someone like Akira to come along. Freezing water, jacket flying about him as he fell the height nobody could survive… what would he look like when they found his corpse? 

“Do you remember when I told you about that night at the bridge?” He could feel his system working the alcohol out to a normal level of operation. But nevertheless, wanted desperately to just  _ talk  _ to someone. 

“I would never forget something so personal.” His hand halted for just a moment, those few seconds more terrifying than they should’ve been. 

This was the third time he’d thought about such a thing in this past week. And god be it if he had to have a discussion on the dirty ground to get it all out of his system. Talking to Akira like his own form of therapy, and knowing he’d listen with all the genuineness he needed… 

He leaned his head finally onto the awaiting shoulder, “I really wanted to end it. Ya know? I was so tired, so done… but those fuckin’  _ fireworks.”  _

Akira giggled a bit, and Ryuji decided to smile too, despite what was being talked about, “An’ I- I’ve realized, man. Every time I so much as think about something like that? I don’t need any fireworks.” 

Sighing, and sliding his hand into Ryujis like it belonged there, shaped to sit perfectly together, his boyfriend could only guess what was coming his way, “Don’t say something corny, you’re going to make me blush.” 

“You’re my firework Aki.”

“Ryuji my god- you are such a sap sometimes!” Akira laughed, the vibrations deep in his chest rattling and pulling into the dead weight leaning on him. Grinning wide at the obvious embarrassment. 

He wasn’t just joking around, although nudging them towards a resolution to this breakdown. Dead serious as could be, if it weren’t for Akira, he would obviously not be where he was. Wouldn’t be laughing through dried tears, wouldn’t be comfortable and content with life. 

It wasn’t hard to think he’d probably be in the ground. Revisiting his dark demons that tried to coax him over that edge, and giving in. Who’s to say he would even finish highschool? How lonely would his mother be, clutching his ashes after nobody showed up to his funeral? 

It was suffocating at times of course. With living in fear of the tinted memories his whole life, he would rather be here. Smothering himself in Akira’s scent and smiling into the fabric that still somehow smelled like coffee all these years later. 

How silly he felt now. To think back on the experience in the bar, not to say no to those who didn’t know of his trauma. 

Why was he so distraught in the first place? Why couldn’t he just stop being such an idiot and embrace what he’d done? Turn the negatives into positives. 

All he had to do was bring his mother’s smile after learning he’d gotten a friend into his mind. Or how warm he’d felt waking up every morning to see the rather unflattering sleep-face his boyfriend had. So cute he’d have thousands of photos through his phones over time, the good vibes he’d gotten from just the faint feeling he got from thinking of Sojiro ruffling his hair. 

Humming a bit before he yelled out, “THE LIGHT OF MY LIFFFFFE!” The one being screamed about widened their magnificent eyes and tried their hardest to push away. 

Unfortunately Ryuji hit the stage of being flat out drunk, to perform an unknowing comedy routine, wrapping his arms tightly around Akira’s torso as he made a failed attempt to escape. 

Akira, his savior, who he wouldn’t let weigh down in any other way than being a dumbbell attached to his waist at the moment. Trying to rid himself of toxicity, and to have self reliance. He would never want his boyfriend to feel burdened by his own grief, and fortunately, they relied on each other  _ just _ enough to have a steady and sturdy love. 

“YOU’RE MY FIREWORK AKIRAAAAA!” 

“Ryuji  _ shush-“  _

__ “I LOVE YOUUU! AKIRAAAAA!” 

“Oh my go-“

“I WANNA BE YOURSSSS. KURUSU AKIRAAAA!... heh. Kurusu.” He laughed to himself, loosening his grip on the red faced man, and watching as he quickly stood up and away from the screeching drunk. 

What he would leave behind after this one night, was something he didn’t know he was still toting around all this time. Having an impromptu visit to a bar change his view a bit, what was currently happening brought a beam that almost forced the sun into retirement. 

“Are you done?” 

Trick question, he just fooled himself by asking, “I WANNA BE. KURUSU RYUJI! WHAT WOULD I DO WITHOUT YOUUU- MY BAYYY-“ 

A hand slapped over his mouth, and the only noise possible was a frustrated squeak. Looking down at the fingers on his lips and trying to frown, wondering if his sad attempt at Braille was working, all he could do was look up and see the frazzled love of his life. Evil in his bones as he stuck his tongue between the cracks, satisfied at the disgusted groan that came soon after. 

Of course, he would probably never ever touch a drink ever again in his life if this night was anything to be an example of. So much pain and horrible memories clogged his brain at just the smell of it. The never ending fear that one day he’d end up like his father, sacked out on the couch with an ashtray balancing on his beer belly after a long tiring day of smacking his son around. 

In fact, his face still stung in all the right spots if he dwelled on it too long. And ignoring something like that for too long just built up the pain he’d felt upon the remembrance.

If someone proposed a drinking session again although, he surely wouldn’t let his past get to him. He’d learn to have a good time, and speak up rather than unwillingly agree to something like that. Order a soda instead, talk about his meet, and be on Akiras side of things at this point in time. Laughing at the drunkards attempts at humor around him. 

Somehow his babbling progressed to him being able to stand on his own. Whisked out of that alleyway with an arm draped around the strong and unfairly built frame of his lover. Wondering how such a beanpole looking man could ever harness so much strength. 

He wondered out loud, and earned a scoff and a light smack to his head. Laughing at his lame attempt at humor, and feeling the alcohol trickle out of his system along with the dark thought that overwhelmed him. 

Stepping outside his comfort zone unwillingly, was surprisingly,  _ not comfortable.  _

But if the slow feeling in his veins had taught him anything, it was that everything was vastly different from that past he  _ was  _ trying to forget. And that on the off chance he decided to remember it, he just had to count his blessings one by one. 

Would he ever have imagined himself in such a fantastic place? No. 

In all honesty, he’d grown up so much. Sometimes he even found himself wishing his father the best. 

In knowing he made Ryuji the way he was. If he were living the good life too, perhaps the thought every so often of his family he abused to the point of trauma… he could feel the same things they were feeling now. Maybe even worse. 

_ But Ryuji could only hope.  _

A street light flickered above them, and he was coherent enough to know they weren’t far from home. Curious to how funny they looked from afar, and to how difficult it was to tug the lump of skin that was Ryuji down these streets in the middle of the night. 

“Can we have sloppy sex when we get home?” 

It wasn’t hard to say he was in a good place, and was even easier to say he wanted to stay like this for as long as possible. Those old save files from, his stupid metaphorical, "life is like a video game," bullshit could be tossed out.

And… He could sense the objection before it ever left Akiras mouth, “What the fu-  _ no." _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I've had this story halfway written for six months now lol! I'll update my royal AU soon!


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